


a reason good enough as any

by smithens



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Christmas, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Two days before Christmas, fiveamisare winding down from their tasks.





	a reason good enough as any

“—say! the fire’s dying, a reason good enough as any to retire, isn’t it? I’ve a chill - even in Paris each winter is worse than the last; I don’t fancy passing the rest of the evening shivering.” Bahorel downed the rest of brandy in one swallow and stood from his chair, extinguishing a candle with his thumb and forefinger as he did so.

Joly looked at the paper he had left on their table - a list of names and houses. Six folded and sealed letters lay next to it: evidently Bahorel had been productive.

Then he looked at his own, only his second, and realized quite suddenly that he had written the same sentence over twice.

That would have to be dealt with after Christmas, he decided, and began to gather his things himself. He intended to return to his flat and stay there until it was necessary to attend Mass the next night, ideally with knitted stockings on for the bulk of it.

“Besides,” continued Bahorel, leaning over Enjolras, “we oughtn’t allow Enjolras to fall asleep on the table!”

“Hm?” said Enjolras, setting his pen in its inkwell nib-side up. Bahorel chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. Across from them, Lègle and Prouvaire seemed moments from collapsing of exhaustion.

Lègle was meant to be spending the night at Prouvaire’s, which no longer seemed such a pleasing arrangement now that Joly was shivering so.

After a moment, Enjolras righted his pen. He did not bother to clean the ink droplets from the table - before Joly could say anything, Lègle pulled out Joly’s kerchief from his pocket and dabbed it up himself.

“I had intended to finish this before returning tonight,” said Enjolras. His cheeks lacked their normal rosiness, and instead of blinking he seemed to be closing his eyes as if to sleep and then opening them again just when it had been long enough to assume he’d begun to snooze.

Perhaps watching this had been the cause of Joly’s own negligence with his letter.

“It is  _Christmas_ ,” said Jean Prouvaire between yawns. He stood, too, then began to stretch: reaching up above his head, then leaning to touch his toes. “No man ought do work at Christmas.”

This Joly found no fault with, although the severity of Prouvaire’s tone combined with his gymnastics was hard to take seriously.

“You call writing silly little letters for children work, do you?” said Lègle.

Prouvaire did not delay his response: “For Enjolras it must be drudgery. He does not know how to be silly or little.”

Lègle snorted.

Joly’s toes began to tingle, and so he pulled his satchel strap over his shoulder and stood.

“Do I not?” said Enjolras.

“Not at all,” continued Prouvaire. He blew out the remaining candles on their table in one breath — the remaining light in the backroom of the Café Musain came then only from the dying fire. “Put them away. Feuilly will help you before we send them. I hope you don’t think we’ll allow you to stay here after we leave.”

Enjolras said something in Latin which Joly did not think was declined correctly, then rose to his feet. (Prouvaire nodded solemnly.)

They all stood in silence, ready to depart, while he sorted his papers and capped his ink bottle.

Bahorel held the door open as they stepped outside. Even in the alleyway, the ground was covered in a light layer of snow.

“Well,” said Enjolras, donning his hat. “Merry Christmas.”

And he set off.

A moment later Bahorel left in the other direction.

“You aren’t really going to stay with Prouvaire, are you,” said Joly to Lègle, after the three of them had stood in awkward silence for too long.

“No,” said Prouvaire and Lègle at once.

Joly took Lègle’s arm in his own. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be longer than it is, ergo, plotholes.
> 
> also i will never not hate the canonized lègle tag lmao


End file.
